


Runoff

by PunkHazard



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:49:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2796905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkHazard/pseuds/PunkHazard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra knows that she shouldn't take comfort in the idea that Ezekiel would abandon the team immediately if it meant saving his own skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Runoff

Cassandra knows that she shouldn’t take comfort in the idea that Ezekiel would abandon the team immediately if it meant saving his own skin (she finds it marginally _more_ unnerving that he’s so frank about it), but it works, somehow. 

It’s funny, how he so easily calms her nerves, pulling her thoughts away from the spiderweb of cracks she sometimes envisions fracturing her brain, straining and growing every time the tumor throbs.

'Braingrape' had bothered her at first, but it beats the way everyone would hesitate before the word— 'tumor', giving her a quick, nervous look before plowing ahead. As if Cassandra isn't constantly reminded of the timebomb in her head by things that are far less predictable than just the mention of cancer, as if the moments she manages to forget aren't far outnumbered by the days and weeks she has to fight back the urge to scream. Maybe it's just the way he speaks, so easy but so careful, no pity in his expression but with an affectionate quirk to his lips.

Lately, it makes her cringe and smile at the same time (laughing too hard brings on the migraines). Just vivid enough to focus the image on a literal grape wedged in the folds of a cartoonish brain instead of a pulsating, veiny blob of flesh that will eventually overtake her voluntary and involuntary motor impulses; just irreverent enough to make it not seem so bad.

Jones had asked her, on their way deeper into the Labyrinth, _Does it really really really annoy you when I call it the braingrape? ‘Cause I can stop,_ and she’d told him that maybe the nickname was starting to grow on her.

She had felt him snort, then nod, the cadence of that gesture underpinning the rhythm of their strides. “But,” he’d added, “only I get to call it that? Me and the braingrape, we’ve got a special connection now.”

He’d fallen silent without prompting a reply, and Cassandra had just sighed, leaning into his side and allowing him to navigate her around corners, through narrow corridors, to kick away small obstructions in their way and to physically steer her past larger ones. She notices every time, even beyond the map of the seven-dimensional maze she’s holding in her mind. 

Hours later, back in the safety of the Annex, Cassandra puts her hand on Ezekiel’s arm, where she’d held on through the maze. “Just for the record,” she tells him, “the braingrape really appreciates what you said back there.”

She doesn’t expect to render him speechless (no one in the world would be able to achieve that), but takes great satisfaction in the momentary pause between her words and his. “The part where I said I would’ve let the world burn,” he finally manages, “or the part where I said I would’ve bailed on you all in a heartbeat?”

Cassandra just pats him on the shoulder and walks away.


End file.
